Details in the Fabric
by pdljmpr6
Summary: You think you know me, but I don't know myself. – Eliot never talks about his past and he has a pretty good reason for that. Eliotcentric, multichip, MedicalBS, all the good stuff.
1. Not Exactly Child's Play

**A/N**: So this is my newest venture...I've stopped counting how many WIPs that actually is. Meh. I blame my review addiction...anywho. I started posting about this idea on lj a while ago and **_deanangst_** has been patiently waiting for me to write and post it, along with providing me with encouragement and ideas, so, this one's for you chica! But yeah, this idea has been banging around in my head for a some time. Why the delay in posting, you ask? In a word: The Title.

Yes, I know that's two words. Here's the thing...the title, it's like your first impression. Even before the summary, even before the first sentence, the title introduces your story to the world. Pick the wrong one, and you're sunk before you've set sail (ohhh, sailing metaphores). And I feel strongly about titles, I knew I didn't have the right one and I couldn't post until I did. I even put feelers out on **twitter **for help (thanks to all you who suggested titles, btw!) but in the end, the name came from the best place, in my opinion. A song. A beautiful one at that and i hope you look it up. It's called _Details in the Fabric by Jason Mraz_. It's a beautiful song about feeling overwhelmed. About identity. About not being alone, having someone there for you where you didn't before. In a word, this song is about Eliot. Yes, I know that's not one word. And if Jason Mraz is reading this and saying 'that's not what this song is about' well, dear sir, I'm sorry, but that's what I see.

Now, to start us off...some Eliot!whump. Hope everyone feels compelled to let me know what they think of this! Enjoy -pj

_If it's a broken part, replace it _  
_If it's a broken arm then brace it _  
_If it's a broken heart then face it_

___Hold your own _  
_Know your name _  
_And go your own way _

_Hang on _  
_Help is on the way _  
_Stay strong _  
_I'm doing everything _

_Are the details in the fabric _  
_Are the things that make you panic _  
_Are your thoughts results of static cling? _

_Everything will be fine _  
_Everything in no time at all _  
_Everything _

_Details in the Fabric - Jason Mraz (Select Verses)_

oooOOOooo

**Chapter One – Not Exactly Child's Play**

Eliot had probably been a sniper at some point in the past. At least, Hardison was pretty sure he was. How else could he explain the way the hitter could sit still, focused, not moving a muscle, for hours at a time? Literally. Hardison saw him do it for three and a half hours once during recon.

Hardison sometimes had trouble sitting still through an entire episode of Psych without getting up for something at least once.

But not Eliot. Eliot was always in control. Always knew exactly what his body was doing and that it would not dare defy him.

So, understandably, the fact that Eliot kept shifting and fidgeting and moving during their job overview was distracting the hell out of Hardison.

Finally, after the third time the hacker restarted his sentence on just what exactly they needed to get for their client, Nate sighed, turning his attention to Eliot. Sophie was already frowning at him with something like concern and Parker was leaning out from her chair, studying Eliot the way she sometimes studied Sophie when she was flirting with a mark. Trying to figure it out.

"Eliot, what's the matter?" Nate asked, hoping that the hitter understood the sooner he told them, the sooner they could move on with the job.

Eliot grunted, "nothin'," and reached up and scratched at his neck. Nate closed his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. Apparently, Eliot was not interested in expediting this ordeal by just telling them what was wrong. For once.

Sophie's eyes narrowed just slightly a the hitter. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Eliot snapped, his hands moving to his chest and stomach, rubbing the material of his shirt against his skin.

"Are you itchy?" Parker wrinkled her nose, "you're scratching. You got lice?"

"No Parker, I don't have lice." Eliot growled, glaring over at the thief. "Can we just get on with this please?"

Truth be told he'd woken up last night feeling just a little bit off. His energy was down and he'd skipped his early morning run and indulged in an extra long shower in an attempt to be rid of the feeling. It hadn't really helped, but Eliot was an old pro at hiding injuries and sickness, so he'd been to the briefing on time as usual.

He was itchy as hell though, had been since he sat down for Hardison's presentation. But he did _not _have lice.

Sophie leaned a bit closer to him, catching sight of something on the side of Eliot's neck when he flipped his hair out of his face.

"Um, I think it's a bit more serious than that," she said, and Eliot didn't get a chance to ask what she meant before she'd reached over, nimble fingers untucking his long-sleeved shirt, and shoved it up to reveal his chest.

"What the hell?" Nate exclaimed, "Sophie!"

Eliot struggled against her to pull his shirt back down while Hardison tried to decide between horror and laughing hysterically. Parker just leaned in closer until she was practically in Eliot's lap.

"Why do you have tattoos of red dots on your chest?"

That caught Eliot's attention and he paused, frowning. "What?" He craned his neck to look down over Sophie's hands.

"Those aren't tattoos Parker." Sophie looked at Eliot and then looked over her shoulder at Nate, "he's got the chicken pox."

Hardison chose that moment to pipe up, apparently having gone the 'laughing hysterically' route.

"Chicken pox man? Isn't that a kids' thing?" He asked, looking far too amused.

Parker got a deeply troubled look on her face and started to climb backwards over her chair, putting distance between herself and the hitter.

"Chicken pox. Had 'em. Don't like 'em."

Sophie just shook her head, "Parker, if you've had them you're fine. Almost everyone gets them as a child," she glanced around and quick nods from Nate and Hardison confirmed that everyone else had had the chicken pox before. "You've never had them, Eliot?"

Eliot didn't answer, but instead managed to pull his shirt out of Sophie's grasp and started to stand.

"I'll just go home. I'll be fine.

"No, Eliot, you don't understand. Chicken pox can be really dangerous if you get them as an adult." Sophie started.

"I'm fine okay? Just leave me alone for a few days."

"But-"

"I mean it Sophie." He warned. He was not having this conversation. He could handle himself. Had been for as long as he could remember.

He wasn't about to be taken down by some kids' bird flu.

"He's grumpy when he's sick," Parker said in a loud whisper.

"How would u know?" Hardison asked, looking suspiciously between the theif and the hitter, wondering how much time _exactly _the two had been spending together.

Parker gave him a blankly inquisitive look and motioned meaningfully at Eliot. "Exhibit A."

They all watched as he moved toward the door, grumbling the entire time.

Sophie waited until Eliot was gone before she turned to look at Nate.

"Listen, Eliot puts on a good show of it but I really don't like the look of him," Sophie said urgently. When Nate made no comment she knew she wasn't the only one to have noticed Eliot's unusually pale skin and thin sheen of sweat on his brow. "Maybe one of us should stay with him."

Taking their cues from Sophie and Nate, Parker's discomfort and Hardison's laughter had been replaced by concerned frowns.

Nate tried to push it away, but Eliot's restless movements brought back the image of a sick, scared, young sam and the way he shifted around in his hospital bed much the same way. He reached up to rub his face and nodded.

"Yeah, okay," he said, looking back at Sophie, "you stay with him."

Sophie nodded dutifully. "I know a doctor who might be willing to see him if I ask nicely, I'll make the phone call."

He nodded and turned to the other two.

"Parker, go to the drugstore and pick up anything you think he might need. Hardison," Nate thought a moment, "you go along to make sure she doesn't steal it."

Parker made a pouty face, but brightened immediately when Hardison promised to let her drive instead.

"And you?" Sophie asked once the younger thieves had gone.

Nate sighed, resignation and defeat in his voice when he answered, "I'm going to pour myself a drink."

oooOOOooo

The team had been relieved when they discovered Eliot had had the sense to go to the small apartment he kept in the building instead of trying to get to the one he kept on the other side of town.

"Nate! Nate there's something wrong."

But that didn't make hearing Sophie's cry, or the run down the narrow hallway connecting their apartments, any easier to take.

"I can't wake him, Nate. He's muttering things that don't make sense."

_The Eifel tower is a hell of a thing to wake up to. The light in Paris is golden and bright and it hurts his eyes. He calls out, not wanting to be alone, but there's no one to answer. And no sound. Anyway he can't really think about that right now. He has to go. _

_It's dangerous. _

_Something is dangerous here and he needs to get out. Needs to move. Hardison is sitting on the bed with a computer that's older than he is and it should be strange that he's here but it's not and where are his damn boots? He has to leave. Has to get himself and Hardison out of here so he needs his boots. It's dangerous. They have to go._

"Where's that damn doctor of yours?"

"He's on his way! But Dublin's a bit of a ways off, you know. It's going to take a while."

"Nate, why is Eliot making that face? That's not a good face, is it?"

"No parker, it's not."

"Didn't look like one."

_He can hear his mother singing to him, somewhere in the distance and the dark. He knows she's beautiful even though he's never seen her face. Only angels sing like that and all angels are beautiful. He turns around and closes his eyes when the world swims. His head hurts. And he's hot. So so hot._

_When he opens his eyes again Parker is grinning at him. She swishes around in her huge, blue ball gown and she wants to dance. She's already dancing, eyes sparkling at him like the diamonds she keeps hidden in her pillowcase but he's on fire and he can't touch her. He might hurt her. He can't let Parker feel the fire. Hurt her. Parker's favorite food is waffles. Parker will eat anything on waffles. Maybe Parker has put him in the waffle maker and that's why it's so hot._

"Alright, he's too hot. We can't wait for the doctor. Parker, go run a bath, lukewarm water, not cold. Sophie, find some clothes for us to put him into when were done. Hardison, help me carry him."

_The dark is gone suddenly and with it the fire. He asks Parker what's going on but she just smiles and tosses a padlock at him and says she'll time him. There's something tickling his neck and he reaches up to brush off a dozen ants that are crawling across his skin and they itch like mad. There's still that singing coming from somewhere and he runs toward it because it's Safe and he can't remember the last time he felt Safe like that. But the shadows are thick around him and the singing won't stop long enough for him to call out to it. He falls hard into the darkness, his knees ache. But he can smell the wheat and the hay and the horses and that's what Home smells like so they have to be here somewhere. All of them. Nate and Sophie and Hardison and Parker. They have to be here somewhere. _

The bath did what it was supposed to and when Nate was satisfied Eliot wasn't going to start having heat seizures, he and Hardison got him out of the tub and into clean clothes. After getting the hitter back to the bed, Nate collapsed into a chair, thoroughly exhausted.

He rubbed at his side a moment, hiding a grimace from the team. During the worst of the fever Eliot had started thrashing and kicking, muttering something about 'dangerous' and 'go' and it had taken all of Nate and Hardison's weight on him to keep him from rolling to the floor.

Hardison didn't seem nearly as tired as Nate, though, and couldn't keep still. Nate had finally sent him off to do some recon on the job to keep him occupied. They probably wouldn't be doing the job for a while now, but it beat allowing the hacker to worry himself to death.

Parker on the other hand hadn't laid a single finger on Eliot since he was diagnosed with Chicken Pox but, aside from her brief trip to the drug store, she also hadn't allowed the hitter out of her sight. Even now, she was propped up in the window of the fire escape of Eliot's bedroom. Unable to stand being inside, equally unable to leave.

Sophie was taking it all in stride with her usual grace. She sat on the bed beside the hitter, continuing to sooth the worst of the red rash with a cool cloth, sometimes speaking softly when she saw Eliot's brow wrinkle in a troubled frown.

She glanced up briefly when Nate left the room, and saw him come back only to come back a moment later. The demons and darkness in his eyes born of memories none of them fully understood kept her from saying anything about the drink in his hand.

_TBC  
_


	2. Old Bones Hidden in a Dusty Closet

**A/N: **Okay, my muse is either on crack, meth or speed...or a combination therof. This is my second update today and I have another oneshot for the White Collar Fandom to post when i'm done here, and then I start writing the final chap of 'Calling All Angels' that the musie just gave me while I was on my way here. So I'm a review junkie and my muse is a drug addict...Meh. Sounds about par for the course. :-D Enjoy! -pj

**Disclaimer: **In case I forgot it in the first chap: They're not mine. They're all at ComicCon. If I was even remotely affiliated with them I'd be there too...

* * *

**Chapter Two- Old Bones Hidden in a Dusty Closet **(Title courtesy of **_Miss Meggie_**)

_Almost Fifteen Years Ago:_

_"Ten soldiers from six countries have been selected." A young man in a crisp military uniform saluted his superior with eyes that stayed respectfully pointed toward the wall. The insignia of his country was covered by a black, removable patch on his shoulder. The sounds of their shoes slapping the concrete floor echoed in the darkened hallways of the bunker. _

_The older man, dressed equally as crisp and his countries' symbol also covered, took the piece of paper handed to him. _

_"All volunteers?" He asked, taking his hat off to hold under his arm, revealing salt and pepper hair cut neat and close to his head._

_The younger soldier dipped his chin once. "They are eager to serve their countries, sir. _

_The corners of the older man's mouth kicked up slightly. _

_"They always are." _

_The two men walked down the long corridor leading them even further underground until they came to a thick, double paned, titanium plated door. The younger man stood at an appropriate distance while the older input a key code to unlock the door and then bent over for his retinas to be scanned. _

_After two more locked doors and past an armed guard, the two men walked through an opening to a spacious, brightly lit room. There ten young men stood at attention. They all wore well kept military uniforms, though each was slightly different, distinctive to the countries they hailed. _

_The older man dropped his hat on a metal chair by the door and started walking slowly down the line, giving them each young soldier a once over with his eyes. Letting them feel the power and authority that radiated off of him. _

_He stopped in front of the shortest of the group. The man, more like a boy at no more than twenty, had short cropped dark brown hair and young, obedient blue eyes. His square jaw was held at perfect parallel to the floor, the scar above his lip the only mar on otherwise perfect skin. _

___He made no move to look at him and, satisfied, t_he older man took a few steps back, his hands clasped in front of him. 

_"Welcome to The Ares Project," he announced. The only evidence he'd been heard was the slight straightening of a few of the boy's spines and the way their eyes sharpened on a target in the distance, none daring to look him in the face._

_"This, is Dr. Wesley," he introduced a slight man who had just entered without having turned to see him do so. "He will be assisting Drs Troy and Andrews throughout the process. He can answer any questions or concerns you may have and I expect you to do exactly as he says." He paused for emphasis and was satisfied when none of the men were showing any signs of doubt. Blind faith in their country. Their government. _

_That was good. _

_"Dr Wesley, if you please." _

_The young scientist with curly dark hair and thick framed rectangular glasses, no older than the soldiers he faced, began walking down the line of soldiers. He held out a small plastic cup to each of them, a few nondescript pills clacking aginst the sides. _

_One of the men, the blue eyed one who'd been singled out before, hesitated briefly when handed his cup and the older man's eyes narrowed at him. Defiantly, the blue eyes flickered over to him, and held his gaze as he tilted his head back and tossed the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry. _

_A small smile quirked the corner of the older man's lips and he nodded. _

_"Well done gentlemen. You do your countries proud." _

oooOOOooo

The doctor Sophie had sent for, a small red headed Irishmen who'd lived long enough to have seen more than most, sat back from leaning over Eliot's prone form. The hitter was still sleeping as far as they could tell, and still feverish, but at least he wasn't having those dreams anymore.

He wiped his brow with a white cloth he pulled from his pocket and took his stethascope out of his ears before turning to look up at Nate.

"He's doin' bettar," the doctor said, a thick Irish brogue coloring his words, "twas good quick thinkin' Mistar Ford, puttin' the lad in a bath. Had some experience with high fevers before, have ye'?"

Nate cleared his throat and nodded, something in his eyes made the Irishman purse his lips and nod sadly.

"Aye." He got up, pressing a hand to his back as he straightened on his feet, and was still a head shorter than Nate.

"Liam, how is he?" Sophie reached out to lay a hand on the doctor's arm and he smiled softly at her, patting her hand once before turning away to put his things back into his black bag.

"Don't ye worry yur pretty lit'l head lass. He should be fine," He soothed, well aware of the four anxious gazes boring into his back. "As far as I can tell, his white blood cells are simply reactin' more violently to the baccterias intrusion than they should have."

"Eliot violent? You dont say," Hardison rolled his eyes, seated at the desk that was shoved into one corner of the room.

"Don't be an idiot Hardsion," Parker spoke up sharply from her perch at the window. She hadn't moved all through the night. "Eliot only uses violence as an appropriate response. _All_ of him."

Hardison was saved from responding by Sophie's soft gasp and she returned to her spot on the bed.

"I think he's coming around."

Eliot woke feeling groggy and out of sorts, sound and light blurring irritatingly. He tensed when the first sensation he identified after 'itchy' and 'hot' were 'people nearby' and his body ached instantly at the involuntary reaction.

Hardison, Nate and Parker all approached the bed, unwittingly making the _tightclosehot_ closing in on the hitter nearly unbearable. Eliot's eyes shot open and he started to sit up, his hands locked in trembling fists and his breathing ragged.

_He was weak. Hurt. Sick. And there were people nearby. Unknowns._

_And wasn't there danger? Something about Hardison and boots and a blue dress and waffles?_

Wild blue eyes darted erratically around the room, clouded and alarmed.

"Eliot, Eliot calm down." Sophie coaxed softly, trying to push him back down.

"Sophie," Nate said, his voice low and even so as not to startled the disoriented hitter into unintentionally hurting the her, "let him go. Now."

Obediently, Sophie pulled her hands off Eliot and stood, causing just a bit of the rigidity faded from his posture. Nate motioned with his hand and Sophie stepped away pulling Liam, who'd been sitting beside her on the bed, away with her. At the same time Nate sent a glance to Parker and Hardison telling them to keep their distance.

"Easy there, easy. Eliot it's me, Nate." He said taking a step forward and bringing the hitter's razor sharp focus one-hundred percent to him.

Eliot's face was flushed and his hair a matted sweaty mess as he narrowed his eyes at Nate.

"Eliot, do you know where you are?" He asked, assuming a casual pose but keeping his voice low and hands visible.

Still frowning, confused as the past and present fought to untangle themselves and dream melted from reality.

Slowly, some of the wild withdrew from his eyes, leaving only residue that had been there all along and Eliot sighed.

"Yeah Nate I know," his voice came out rough but steady and there was a collective sigh of relief. Hardison took a step forward, grinning at his friend.

"Eliot, man, can't you do anything halfway?"

_TBC _


	3. If I Knew, I'd Tell You

**A/N: **Okay. I'll admit it. I've been avoiding updating this one. And not just because some people who shall not remain nameless **_Heather_** decided to flame me about my 'Irish doctor with the Scottish accent'. (and yes, it's flaming, because you didn't have anything positive to say about the fic _and _you were too cowardly to actually _sign _your review so I could discuss it with you privately. Since you didn't, I'm airing out dirty laundry all over this bitch). I'll admit it. I flubbed the accent...actually, no. I flubbed the _identity _of the accent. My Scottish accent was _spot on _as you were able to _identify _said accent, dear Heather, I just _intended _to write an Irish accent. So perhaps I am _not _'one of those people who can't pull of accents' and am merely one of those people who should use a beta to correct dumb mistakes, a fact of which I am well aware. Thanks for...um...no, nevermind.

Phew. I guess I'm still a little hot over that one. But at any rate, thanks to my friend **_inspired-looney_** who _also _noticed the wrong accent identity, but handled it in a much better way. For that, this chap is dedicated to her. Thanks to all my other readers and reviewers and I hope you are able to Enjoy! -pj

oooOOOooo

**Chapter Three - If I Knew I'd Tell You, Then I'd Have To Kill You**

Sophie smiled when Eliot's eyes dropped closed. Mid sentence. For the third time in a row.

"Alright, everyone, I think perhaps Eliot could use his rest now." She smoothed his hair back from his face once more, causing a slightly irritated crease to form in the Hitter's forehead, but his eyes didn't open.

She threaded her arm through the doctor's.

"Come Liam, tell me about Mrs. McDougle and the grandchildren," she said patting his hand as she led him out of the room.

Hardison didn't move from his spot leaning against the wall, hardly noticing Sophie's encouraging hand on his shoulder as she walked by and his eyes stayed locked on Eliot. Nate caught the grifter's eye and nodded, approaching the younger man slowly.

"C'mon Hardison," he said softly, hooking his hand in the Hacker's arm to pull him toward the door. Hardison glanced back at Eliot twice, hesitating, but eventually followed Nate out.

Eliot sensed more than he heard them all leaving and was glad for the reprieve from quiet, concerned eyes. He never had quite gotten used to the way the team fussed over him when he let his armor slip.

He shifted around a few times in the bed trying to get comfortable. It took his feverish, sleep fuzzled mind several seconds longer than usual to realize his reason for discomfort was, in part, due to the fact that he was not yet alone.

He frowned, not even opening his eyes.

"What do you want Parker?"

The thief was hovering just inside the room at the door where she'd slipped back in while Sophie was distracted. She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest and wore an almost comical scowl on her face.

"You never talk about before."

Eliot opened his eyes, still frowning. "What?"

Parker took two hesitant steps closer. "Nate had a family, Hardison and I were in the system, Sophie's dad is a Duke or Earl or whatever...but no one knows anything about you. You never talk about it."

Eliot shrugged, adjusting his head on the pillow to see her better. "Maybe I don't have anything to say."

Parker narrowed her eyes. She remembered the way he'd thrashed during the worst of the fever. And the things he'd said were still playing over and over in her mind.

"You've definitely got a story, Sparky."

Eliot felt like he should smile, but couldn't muster the energy. "What makes you so sure?"

Parker laughed in that too loud, too amused way of hers and pointed at him.

"Eliot, you didn't become a professional hit man by accident," she said, then went quiet and serious again, tilting her head at him. "Why won't you tell us anything?"

He shrugged again, his eyes bouncing away from her to the floor. If she'd known better she would have recognized the action for an unconscious display of insecurity that he was too tired to hide.

"I don't know."

"You don't know why you won't tell us?" She wrinkled her nose, unfolding her arms and taking a few more steps toward the bed. "That's not a very good reason. We're a team. And the only family we've got and-"

"No Parker, I don't know," he snapped, defenses so old and ingrained he didn't know where they came from slammed up and made him tense. Years later, he would blame it on being sick. On the fact that he was exhausted and burning up with fever. He would blame Parker's look of wide eyed innocence and the fact that she would never intentionally hurt anyone, not in a way that mattered.

But whatever the reason, even those same old, ingrained defenses weren't enough to make him stop talking.

"I don't tell you because I _don't know. _ It-its," he gave her a look that was part frustrated, part helpless, "it's a blank. I don't tell you because I _can't _tell you Parker."

She blinked her huge eyes at him a few times and stood stock still until the silence became awkward. Eliot stared back, wishing he had a better explanation.

He tried not to think about the huge blank space in his memory. A part of him knew there should be _something_ there to hold onto, to reference in the future. But there was nothing. For a while he used to try and grab onto it, tried different types of meditation to reach out and catch hold of the things that ought to be there. All he ever got were brief flashes of faces that frustrated him in their unfamiliarity and a migraine for his trouble.

He was pulled back to the present as Parker suddenly turned on her heel and left. Eliot just shook his head and, struck by how big the room suddenly felt without anyone else in it, he closed his eyes and flipped over onto his stomach.

"There's somethin' wrong with her." He muttered into his pillow, and the familiar words served to loosen some of the tension that had gathered in his chest, allowing him to sleep.

oooOOOooo

Parker cornered Hardison in Nate's apartment. She loomed over him at the kitchen table where the Hacker was tapping away on his computer working on something she didn't even bother trying to ponder. Hardison looked up when the shadow fell across his keyboard to find Parker with a pained expression on her face, it took him a moment to decipher it and realize that was her 'trying to figure _people_ out' face.

"I want to do something for Eliot."

"O-kay," he said after a moment when she didn't continue. "And what would that be? He need more water or somethin'?"

Parker furrowed her brow at him like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

"I want to find out who he is. Really."

Hardison stared at her a moment longer, trying to decide what she meant. Then, he realized, she meant exactly what she said.

It was Parker. And it was Eliot.

And they were family.

He closed his laptop and nodded. "Lets do this."

An hour later had the team gathered in Nate's living room glued to the tv screens as if preparing for a con. Parker sat with a bowl of popcorn in her lap beside Sophie and Hardison sat in one of the chairs with Nate standing sentry somewhere behind his left shoulder.

"There's nothing on Eliot Spencer before 1997," Hardison said bringing up a picture of their team's hitter taken earlier that month for a con.

"But Eliot would be been in his early twenties in '97. There has to be something before that," Sophie said, curling her feet up under her on the couch.

"If there is it's not under that name."

"Not surprising," Parker piped up. "The only one any of us knew for sure was using his real name is Nate…and even then I'm not always so sure." She sent an overt glance to Nate, her brows furrowed in suspicion. Nate just raised his glass to her and smiled, making her eyes grow wide.

Hardison continued, shaking his head with a small smile. "Well, I did find one hit with facial recognition." A group photo of Eliot in some sort of military uniform flew up onto the screen and was enlarged so all could see.

"But even this got me query spiked by the CIA and the NSA _big_ time. Somebody up at the top of the totem pole does _not_ want whatever this is to get out."

"What to get out?" A gravelly voice said from behind them. They all turned to look and Sophie leapt up from the couch.

"Eliot you should be in bed." She fussed, reaching out to feel his forehead. He gave her a look that said his patience for her mother hen complex was wearing thin, but didn't pull away. He looked a bit better, not so pale and he wasn't sweating now so his fever had probably dropped, albeit temporarily. Still, he was leaning subtly against the wall to keep upright.

"Whatever it is you can't remember." Parker answered, a small wrinkle between her eyebrows being her only outward show of concern at seeing their sick teammate up and about.

Eliot glanced around the room briefly before his eyes went to the screens and saw the photo of himself, with a young fresh faced and short cropped hair, displayed for all to see. He shook his head, slumping back against the wall.

"You can't-"

Parker didn't wait for him to spout off whatever excuse he'd been about to give them. Jumping over the back of the seat, narrowly missing hitting Hardison in the head with her sneakers, she bounded up to Eliot.

"I'll help you Eliot," her soft tone belied the energy of her movements and her eyes stayed steady on his until he was forced to look away.

"Me too, man," Hardison added after a few moments of silence, "look, this is just all I could turn up in an hour. Give me a few days to extend the search, write some workarounds for the encrypted firewalls. I'll have more."

Eliot still looked uncertain and exhausted, but mostly deeply confused.

"What…" he started and paused, reaching up to massage his aching temples. "Why would you-"

"Eliot," Sophie cut him off with a soft smile and waited until he looked at her. "If I learned anything in Europe, it's that everyone deserves to know who they are."

Behind her he saw Nate tip his glass at the words and Parker nodded eagerly.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eliot sighed.

"Okay."

Sophie smiled and Parker bounced a little on her toes.

"Anywhere in particular I should start?" Hardison asked, turning back to his computer.

Eliot signed again and ran a hand over his face.

"Yeah." He hesitated for a moment, his voice a little bit quieter than normal. "Paris."

_TBC_

_And to **TheNaggingCube **- ok, you got your update, now where's my hot, sweaty, mostly naked Eliot giving me a massage? ;-P_


End file.
